shackles of blood devour you
by SerenLyall
Summary: When SG-1 finds themselves on a world of slavery and empires, bloody games and politics, they find they must rely on one another and their relationships more than ever - even when split apart.


**disclaimer:** Stargate and all thus-related characters do not belong to me. Sad day.

**rating / warnings:** M / Graphic Depictions of Violence, Dubious Consent (though not for a long time, and nothing explicit)

**characters:** Jack O'Neill, Samantha Carter, Daniel Jackson, Teal'c

**relationships: **Jack O'Neill & Samantha Carter & Daniel Jackson & Teal'c, Samantha Carter & Daniel Jackson, Jack O'Neill & Teal'c

**notes:** I'm really excited for this one guys. It'll be more frequently updated than "in the eyes of a demon lover" because that one is mostly coping fic, and this one is a story I _want to tell_. It's one of my main projects at the moment - along with two other Tolkien fics and my novel - so it shouldn't go TOO terribly long without updates... Regardless, I hope you'll bear with me as I write and post it, and I hope you enjoy! (Also yes, I know the "profile pic" for the fic only shows 3/4 of SG1, but it's a team-fic, I promise. I just couldn't find a better picture...)

* * *

**PART 1 – THE VILLAGE**

CHAPTER 1: RAIN AND SAND

"I hate the rain."

Colonel Jack O'Neill of the United States Air Force sluiced water from his forehead and out of his eyes, then gave a very grumpy huff of frustration. His short-cropped hair, brown edged in silver, dripped, and his green BDU jacket clung to the black t-shirt beneath it; his shirt, in turn, clung to the curves of his shoulders and back. His boots squelched—as much with mud as with water—with every step, and the cuffs of his pants were stained with sludge.

The rain was coming down in white sheets, driving the waist-high grass to either side of the muddy path SG-1 was following nearly down to the sodden earth, breaking stalks and flattening blades. The mountains, which Daniel knew rose to either side of them from the MALP telemetry the day before, were invisible, the low-hanging clouds obscuring any sign of the snow-covered peaks.

"I just really hate the rain," Jack said again, once more sluicing water from his face, then pulling his ballcap—which had done nothing to protect his eyes or forehead from the rain—lower over his brows.

"Yes, Jack," Daniel Jackson—archaeologist, linguist, and diplomat of SG-1, Earth's foremost interplanetary exploration team—said with a long-suffering sigh. "I think we heard you the first fifteen times you said that."

"What?" Jack groused. "None of the rest of you seem to be too perturbed, so I had to give voice to enough complaints for all three of you."

Samantha Carter, also of the Air Force and SG-1's second in command, rolled her eyes. "Sorry, _sir_," she called out from her position at the back of the four-person line. To anyone who didn't know her better, she may have sounded contrite—but to the rest of SG-1, it was clear that she was gently teasing her commanding officer.

She had a PhD in theoretical astrophysics, as well as degrees in math and civil engineering, but more often than not elected to relinquish her claim on the title "doctor", preferring, instead, to be known as her rank of "Major".

"I have worked as hard for my rank as for my doctorate," she had told her commanding officer the second day she knew him. "I would prefer it if you would acknowledge that hard work—and the fact that the United States Air Force has judged me just as capable as you were when you were my age—and call me "Captain"." Colonel O'Neill had frowned, and opened his mouth—only to shut it again, remembering for the third time—but not for the last—just how damn _young_ his 2IC was.

He had called her by her rank after that.

"Hey now," Jack called from the front. "Don't poke fun. I'm miserable here. Can't a man be miserable when it's pouring rain and 50 degrees?"

"But does he have to make the rest of us even more miserable than him by complaining about it?" Daniel asked.

"Yes," said Jack promptly.

Teal'c, the fourth and final member of SG-1, stopped abruptly, lifting a hand for silence. Jack walked on a pace, felt that the others were no longer still behind him, and turned back. He frowned at the sight of Teal'c's usually impassive face stamped with intense concentration, head cocked slightly to one side.

"What is it, T?" Jack asked after a long moment of silence, in which the four members of SG-1 stood motionless, waiting and listening.

"I believe I heard—"

A shrill whinny pierced the rain-blown air. Jack made a sharp motion with one hand, and the three other members of his team closed in on his position, taking up their places in an outward-facing box. They had learned long ago, on their second mission, that it was best to keep eyes on every corner of the world when faced with a new, potentially hostile, alien race.

They hunkered down, in the wind and rain and mud, and waited. One long moment passed. Then another. Then, very suddenly, appearing through the curtain of rain, there came a horse and rider. They thundered down the pathway at a gallop, white sweat lathering the horse's neck and mouth and chest, the jingle of tackle lost to the pounding of the rain.

"Off the path!" Colonel O'Neill yelled, and the four members of SG-1 dove for the grass to either side of the muddy track. They hit and rolled, Major Carter and Colonel O'Neill coming up on their knees with their weapons pointed at the newcomer, Teal'c surging to his feet with his staff weapon ready, Daniel picking himself up slowly with one hand outstretched.

The rider blew past them with little more than a second glance, mud spurting from beneath his mount's hooves to spray Teal'c in the chest and Colonel O'Neill in the face.

Spluttering, Colonel O'Neill wiped his face clean with the wet cuff of one of his sleeves, then brushed his hand off on his pants. He turned to Daniel.

"Well?" he asked.

"Well what?" Daniel asked in return.

"What do you make of that?"

Daniel shrugged. "I really don't know, Jack," he said. "I mean, he was dressed in leather armor and furs, indicating a medieval or late Dark Age time period, though the tack on his horse was closer to modern standards than ancient riding gear. The patterns on the rounded shield on his back indicated to me something at least close to a Celtic origin in nature. Other than that, I really can't say."

"Carter?"

"I didn't see any weapons, sir," Captain Carter said. "No swords or spears, if Daniel's assumptions about a medieval or Dark Ages timeline are accurate."

"Teal'c?"

"I agree with Major Carter," Teal'c said. "I saw no weapons. Nor did I see laden saddlebags, indicating that he did not intend to travel far."

"Alright," said Colonel O'Neill. "Let's keep going. But keep your eyes and ears out for any more horses coming our way."

They walked in silence for another half hour, listening intently through the slowly declining patter of the rain for any whinnies, any jingle of tack, any thud of hooves. They heard nothing, however, but the thumping of their own boots in the mud, the soft shushing of their own breath, and the shifting of their tactical vests and the weapons in their hands.

Then, just as abruptly as before, Teal'c lifted a hand, halting SG-1 in their tracks. Jack doubled back, coming to a stop a few paces away from the Jaffa, and listened hard. He heard—nothing.

"What is it, T?" he asked for a second time.

"I do believe I smell smoke," Teal'c replied, evenly and quietly, voice and words barely more than rumbles in his chest.

"What kind of smoke?" Sam asked, pitching her voice low as well.

"The kind made by a great something burning," Teal'c replied.

"Off the path and fan out," Colonel O'Neill ordered. "Twenty feet between each of you. Weapons at the ready."

They obeyed in silence, crossing from single file down the muddy track into a long, straight line to either side of it. Colonel O'Neill, second from the left, checked to make sure they were all in position, then lifted a hand and made a short, sharp motion with it. SG-1 started forward at a slow, even tread, brushing through the tall grass that reached up to their waists, ignoring the chirrup of insects as they leapt away, disturbed from their hiding spots.

One step, two steps—twenty, two hundred. Still they moved forward, cautious and at the ready, eyes at the front and ears peeled for any sounds they might hear.

A hill rose up before them, rolling and gentle, notable only for the flatness of the ground that had heretofore marked their passage. O'Neill gave another hand signal, and Major Carter and Teal'c broke rank, hurrying up the slope but keeping low. They halted at the crest of the rise, flattening themselves to the wet ground, and Major Carter produced a pair of binoculars. She looked through them, lifting herself up just enough to peer out over the slightly-shorter grass at the hilltop—then froze, and handed them to Teal'c.

Colonel O'Neill watched the spot where they had disappeared into the grass apprehensively, wondering what had grabbed his 2IC's attention and wishing he had gone himself. He tapped a thumb against the barrel of his MP5 impatiently, waiting, waiting, waiting…

One minute passed. Then a second. A third. Then came the rustle of grass moving around two large bodies, and Major Carter and Teal'c appeared a dozen paces away.

"Major, report," Jack said sharply, as soon as they were withing speaking distance.

"There's a village down there, sir," said Major Carter. "It looks to be under attack. There's fire and smoke, hidden from here by the hill and the rain, and Teal'c thinks he heard the sound of screams."

"Right," said Colonel O'Neill. "Well we don't want to get caught in any crossfire, especially when we don't know what the two sides are fighting for."

"We can't just sit back and watch a bloodbath," Daniel protested.

"No one said it was a bloodbath, Danny," Jack said. "Carter and Teal'c said it was a fight. That says nothing about bloodbaths."

"But—"

"No, Daniel," said Jack. "We wait until the fighting has ended, and _then_ we move in."

They hunkered down to wait at the apex of the hill, a little way off of the path. The rain continued to fall, though in ever gently decreasing ribbons, and the grass _shushed_ around them in the light breeze. The clouds churned overhead, moving in eddies and waves off toward the horizon, funneling between the hidden mountain peaks toward the ocean, which was just now visible now from their vantage point.

The land sloped down a long, gradual decline from the hilltop on which SG-1 sat, toward a huge, glittering bay some few miles below. It had been hidden from sight by the ridge, and by the lower elevation, the smell of sea salt curiously absent in the air—but now, sitting on top of the hill and staring down at it, SG-1 could see the gentle waves lapping the golden beach, could see the small, swift fishing ships with narrow masts and thin sails tied off at a long dock, could see the village stretching nearly to the water's edge where the land evened off, thick orchards to the east, rich fields of crops to the south and west.

They could also see, however, the huge, hulking ship squatting at the center of the large bay, its three masts sporting vast sails and its sides hung with huge shields painted with a myriad of figures: a red, roaring lion standing against a black background; a tree against blue and yellow checkers; an apple pierced through with an arrow laid over a snow-white backdrop; and more still. Long, thin landing boats were dark against the gold of the sandy beach to the west of the dock, and two tiny figures, just visible with the binoculars, moved back and forth beside them, guarding the boats against assault.

The rain-hidden smoke was also visible now, dark and thick in rising plumes. The source was within the village itself: a large building at the heart of the collection of wooden structures, with a domed roof and a single, large door just beneath the eaves, a ladder leading up to it from the hard-packed ground around it. It burned, bright and fierce and gold, red, orange. The flames licked at the walls, ate at the door, crawled through the roof.

Colonel O'Neill shivered in his wet clothes as the breeze stiffened. With it came the thud of hooves and the sound of tack jingling amid the gentle patter of the rain. Colonel O'Neill, who had been watching the village, lowered his binoculars and swept the road leading past their vantage point with his eyes.

"Head's up, sir," said Major Carter. "Looks like we've got company."

"What shall we do?" Teal'c asked, as O'Neill caught sight of the lone horse approaching the hilltop on which they sat.

Jack considered. They could allow the horse to pass by them unhindered just as they had the last one; or they could stop the horse and rider and question them, perhaps getting valuable information about the state of affairs down in the village. On the one hand, they had no way of knowing what they would be getting themselves involved in if they stopped the rider and inserted themselves into the conflict. Plus, having only one side of the altercation was always dangerous—he had learned that a long, long time ago. On the other hand, they needed information as to what was happening and as soon as possible. Which meant—

"Jack," said Daniel. "Jack, they're _kids._"

Jack swung his binoculars up to his face and looked at the approaching horse and rider—_riders_, he realized. There were two humans on the horse, clinging tightly to the massive animal, their short legs not even long enough to reach the stirrups, which were swinging with the horse's movements.

"Ah, shit," said Jack, standing. "Guess that makes up my mind. Teal'c, stop that horse."

Teal'c rose, broad and strong and imposing, and moved into the path. He held up his hands as the horse drew near, arms out wide, and began to walk forward slowly. The horse—a hundred feet away, fifty feet away, twenty, ten—shied and skittered to the left, clearly intending to go around him.

"Carter," Jack snapped, "other side." Major Carter leapt to her feet and hurried to Teal'c's opposite side, angling her body so that the horse would feel boxed in. "Daniel, stay back a pace or two. Be ready to use your charm and sweet personality to calm the kids down."

"Got it," said Daniel, and Jack hurried forward as well, trying to box the horse in from his side as well.

The horse shied again, and the smaller of the two children—a tiny boy with dark, curly hair and huge eyes—shrieked, clinging to the horse's mane with slim fingers. Jack watched the larger of the two children, a girl he guessed was about 9 or 10, wobble on the horse's back, arms wrapped around who Jack assumed was her brother, and nearly fell.

Jack lunged forward as the horse skittered to the side again, head down and eyes on the gap between Jack and Teal'c. Jack missed the horse completely as it bolted past him, aiming for freedom and open air, hooves pounding through the grass and mud, sides heaving, ears pinned back to its skull.

"Shit!" Jack yelled, and he sensed as much as saw Teal'c and Carter responding to his failed attempt, swinging in toward the horse. Jack whirled, and sprinted forward, angling his feet to the right to hopefully send the horse veering towards the rest of his team.

"Help!" The voice was small and shrill but piercing. "Help!"

"Shit," Jack said again, and lunged in, just as the horse stopped dead and then took a step back, spotting Teal'c hurrying toward it.

Jack reached out a hand, the reins where they met the bit filling his focus. The horse threw up its head, backed up a step, then whinnied shrilly. Jack's fingers closed around the reins—and for an instant he thought he was going to lose his grip on them as the horse flung its head up again and made to bolt anew. Then Jack dug in his heels, flicked his hand so that the reins flipped around his wrist, and dropped his weight.

With a snort and a second, aborted, whinny of protest, the horse's head wrenched around and it came to a stamping, prancing halt. The girl and boy tumbled from the horse's abruptly halted back, falling to the grassy, muddy ground with soft _thlump_s.

"T," Jack called, and before he could even finish his order, the Jaffa was by his side, relieving him of the reins and drawing the horse away with calming, soothing words. Major Carter approached at a run, and Daniel appeared at Jack's shoulder a second later, already bending down to the kids' level.

"Hi there," he said, extending a hand. "We're terribly sorry about that. We didn't mean to make you fall off the horse." He smiled, his blue eyes glinting with warmth in the dim light. "I'm Daniel."

The girl stood and put herself between Daniel and her little brother, a glare fixed on her face. "We won't go with you," she snarled, looking first at Daniel then at Jack standing above him. Then her eyes fell on Major Carter, and she faltered. "What's she doing here?" the girl asked, lifting a finger and pointing it at Major Carter.

"This is Major Samantha Carter," said Jack, gesturing to his second-in-command. "She's part of my team."

"But the slavers never bring their women," the little girl said suspiciously.

"Slavers?" Daniel repeated.

"We're not slavers," Jack said quickly. "You have us mixed up with someone else."

"But…" The girl looked perplexed, as well as concerned, and glanced back at her little brother standing behind her with his thumb in his mouth. "But who else would you be?"

"We're explorers," said Daniel. "We come through the Stargate—the big, metal circle a few miles away that way," he pointed, "and we go looking for new people to be friends with."

The girl did not look convinced. "But the slavers—"

"If we were slavers, don't you think we'd have grabbed you by now?" Jack asked. "Made you be quiet?"

"I—I mean… Probably," the girl said softly, staring up at the adults around her with wide eyes. "But then why did you stop us?"

"We need information," said Jack. "And, no offense, but you didn't seem too sturdy on that horse."

"Arold is too big for us," the little boy said, pulling his thumb from his mouth.

"Hush, Kennith," said the girl, turning to look at her little brother.

"But he is," Kennith said, and stuck his thumb back in his mouth.

"I know he is," said the girl, "but we had no choice. Mama said—" She abruptly fell silent, turning to look at Jack and the rest of his team with wide, frightened eyes.

"Why didn't you have any choice?" asked Daniel gently. He was still kneeling in the grass, which now came up to his neck, and which came up to the girl's chin. His tone was inviting and kind, encouraging—the kind of tone of voice that invited confidence. Jack grinned. There were few people in the galaxy who could refuse or resist that tone of voice.

"Because," the girl said, clearly not one of the few, "there are slavers down there. Mama sent us out of the village to ride to Agron where our uncle lives."

"Agron?" Daniel asked.

"The neighboring, inland village," said the girl.

"You said there are slavers down there?" Jack asked. "Real slavers?"

"Yes," said the girl. "They come every year around this time, and kidnap half a dozen people from our village, and from every other village along the coast."

"Ah, shit," said Jack. "Where do these captives get taken?"

The girl shrugged. "Across the sea," she said, and pointed toward the watery horizon. "The Dwendal Empire always needs slaves."

"I see," said Jack. "Well, can you two wait here for us?"

The girl frowned, and shared another look with her little brother. "I don't know," she said. "We're supposed to go to Agron."

"We'll come back for you," said Jack. "And if you still need to go to Agron, we'll take you there ourselves."

"Jack?" Daniel asked.

"We're going down to help," said Jack, looking at Daniel. "Or is that not what you wanted to do earlier?"

Daniel smiled half a smile. "No, no," he said, "it is."

"Carter?" Jack asked.

"I think we should go help too, sir," she said. "If they are slavers—well, I never much approved of slavery." When she smiled, it was drenched in bitterness. She'd had her own taste of slavery, at the beginning of their time as SG-1, and Jack knew it had left her with a sour taste in her mouth towards anyone—or anything—that indicated the forced servitude of another being.

"Right," said Jack, and he lifted his voice. "Teal'c, bring the kiddos their horse." He looked at the two children. "I would _like_ it if you would wait here for us—or your parents—to come back and get you. But I won't force you." He did not say that he knew he couldn't force them to stay, if they wanted to go.

"All right," said the girl after a moment's hesitation.

Teal'c handed her the reins to their horse, then bowed slightly to her and her brother. When he straightened, he looked at Jack.

"Move out," said Jack. "Double time."

They took the slope down to the village at a steady, easy lope, weapons in hands and breath rushing in their lungs. The grass whispered around them, the mud of the path sucked at their boots, and the breeze tugged fitfully at their hair and faces. Still they pressed on, though, sweat gathering in the smalls of their backs and perspiration beading on their foreheads and backs of their necks.

The village drew near. They reached the outlying fields of crops, slatted, wooden fences rising to either side of the path. The fields of grass abruptly disappeared, giving way to rising stalks of wheat and a strange, bladed crop that looked similar to maize. The rain had almost completely stopped, leaving only a faint mist in the air, and on the breeze there came the soft lowing of cattle and the bleating of sheep from invisible pastures.

Then the buildings were before them, rising one and two stories high. The thatched roofs dripped with rainwater, while the shuttered windows hid all but the slimmest rays of firelight from within. The path widened into a proper, if still muddy, street. It cut through the center of the village, then led down to the dock on the water.

Twenty paces into the village, SG-1 reached the people. They filled the street with cries and screams. Most carried buckets of water, while others carried scythes and crude spears. Those with weapons seemed to be trying to protect the rest, as they ran toward the burning silo at the center of the town.

Upon seeing SG-1, the villagers panicked. They cried out and scattered, dropping buckets of spilling water. Only those with weapons remained in the street after a few seconds, and the five of them—four men and one woman—gathered in a clustered clump at the center of the road and brandished their weapons.

"Do not come any closer," cried the woman, who seemed to be the leader. "If you do, we will not hesitate to kill you."

"We're not interested in fighting you," Jack called. "We came to see if we could help with the slavers."

"They have come and gone already," said the woman with a dark frown. "They have their captives, and are bringing them down to their longboats. Why would you help us?"

"Because we aren't in the habit of allowing slavery to happen under our noses," said Jack. "Now where are their longboats?"

"Down on the water's edge. The rest of our militia has already gone after them, though, to try to bring the children back."

"Children?" Jack asked. "They have _children_?"

"And Amara," said the woman. "One of the children's mothers."

"Let us pass," said Jack. "We'll go help your militia."

"And how do we know you are not merely more slavers, here to attack from behind?"

"Daniel?"

"Well, you're just going to have to trust us," said Daniel. "Plus, I mean, I don't think we look like the slavers you're used to. In fact, I'll wager we look very different."

That gave the woman pause. "You do indeed," she said.

"The longer you keep us," Daniel added, "the less chance we have of helping."

The woman took a step back, and motioned for the rest of her people to do so as well. "If you _are_ slavers, you will regret this duplicity," she informed SG-1. "But if you are here to help—you will have the gratitude of our people."

"Move out," said Jack, and SG-1 broke into a jog, passing through the gap left by the guards in single file.

They followed the street through the village, then out the other side. The last few buildings fell away, and then before them was an open slope down to the water's edge, the dock with the fishing boats straight ahead. To the left, however, came the sounds of fighting.

Jack made a hand gesture, and SG-1 angled toward the fighting. A long line of villagers—dressed in simple homespun breeches, rough leather jerkins, and simple cloaks—stood opposite a thick line of huge, hulking men dressed in leather armor and thick furs. Helms hid their brows and darkened their faces, and gloves hid their hands, which held weapons the likes of which Jack had never seen before.

His first thought was, _They're lightsabers_. The blades were in varying lengths and widths, but all of them shimmered with self-contained light: blue, yellow, green, red, purple. The hilts were not the simple, but elegant, handles of the lightsabers of _Star Wars_, however; they were intricately detailed, with pommels and cross guards to protect the wielder's hand.

"Carter?" Jack snapped.

"I don't know, sir," she replied. "I'd have to take a look at one of them to get a better understanding of it."

"Can we fight them?"

"I'd recommend not getting close, sir," she said. "If the blades _are_ made from light, then our tac vests won't stand in their way at all. But unless they have the same paranormal gifts as the Jedi, they won't be able to protect against our weapons either."

"Got it," said Jack.

From ahead, there came a horn call. At the sound of it, the line of huge, armored and furred men began to fall back. The villagers in front of them redoubled their efforts, lunging forward with snarls and shouts.

"That's our signal," Jack called. "Teal'c, you're with me. We go left. Carter, Daniel, you go right. See if you can get around this line of warriors to those longboats. If nothing else, we can keep them from leaving by blowing holes in the boats."

Jack and Teal'c ran to the left, arcing back and then around. There were two knots of fighting villagers and slavers broken off from the main line, and Jack guessed they had tried to do the same thing he and Teal'c were doing, only to have been seen and stopped.

They angled their way between the two knots at Jack's hand gesture, breaking into a full-out sprint as soon as their way was clear. They were ten feet from open air on the other side of the knots, eight feet, five feet, three feet, two feet, one foot—

A huge, hulking figure stepped in front of them, grinning, lightsaber shimmering in his hand. "And where d'you think you're going?" the slaver growled, bringing the lightsaber up and down in a large swing, forcing Jack and Teal'c back.

Jack lifted his MP5. "Stand back," he warned. "We don't want to kill you."

The slaver grinned. "You think your weapons can kill me?" he asked, and laughed. "You two must be strangers, dressed as you are in such strange attire. But even strangers to this land should know the power of the berserker."

"Uh," said Jack.

"We do not," said Teal'c, lifting his staff weapon. "Now stand out of our way, or we _will_ hurt you."

With a roar, the slaver lunged forward, swinging his lightsaber high. Jack lifted his gun—and fired.

His spray of bullets struck the slaver in the chest. They punched through his armor with a spurt of blood, and the slaver staggered. He did not, however, fall. The _kathunk-whizz_ of Teal'c's staff weapon discharging snapped through the air, and the ball of light struck the slaver in the stomach. He staggered again, and the smell of charred meat filled the space between them—but still he did not fall.

"Shit," Jack said, for what felt like the hundredth time that day. "Teal'c?"

"Aim for the head," suggested Teal'c.

Jack leapt back as the lightsaber swung in toward him. It carved through the front half of his MP5, cleaving it in two. The butt and a sharp edge of red-hot metal was all that was left in Jack's hands.

Teal'c fired again, only for the slaver to whirl at the last second and narrowly avoid being struck in the side of the head by the staff blast. He advanced on Teal'c, a wicked grin on his face, closing the distance between them and making Teal'c's long-range weapon ineffective. Teal'c swung his staff up and around, bringing the butt of it smashing down against the slaver's shoulder. Once more he stumbled and staggered but did not fall.

Jack fumbled for his Zat, pulling it from its holster and opening it. He took aim and fired. The slaver stumbled to his knees, body spasming—but still, he did not fall. Jack shot him again. He landed on his hands and knees—only to begin to push himself upright once more. Jack shot him a third time.

He fell, and did not move again.

Teal'c shared a look with Jack, one eyebrow half-cocked in astonishment, and the two of them turned toward the longboats once more. The sounds of their fight, however, had attracted attention. Three more slavers had broken away from the retreating line, and stood now between Jack and Teal'c and the longboats.

"Shit," Jack said again, lifting his Zat. "Let's just hope Daniel and Carter had better luck than us."

~xXx~

Sam and Daniel arced around the back of the line of attackers, footsteps rattling their teeth and their weapons heavy in their hands. "There," Sam said, pointing, and the two of them sprinted forward, through a gap in defenders. The beach opened up before them, the crush of bodies closing in around them for one second, two seconds, three, arms and weapons that made Sam's head spin with formulas and calculations whizzing to either side. Then they were through, sand spurting from beneath the heels and toes of their boots as they ran, the waves and the longboats pulled up on the shore ahead of them.

There were half a dozen figures around the longboats, shoving and wrestling with thrashing forms half-in, half-out of the boats. The forms were bound hand and foot, but still they fought, screaming and crying and begging, begging, begging in high-pitched, terrified, too-young voices…

Sam's stomach churned.

"Hey!" she shouted, lifting her MP5 and firing a spray of bullets at the nearest figure. It did not have a fighting child in his hands. She took him in the chest as he turned, and he staggered back, but did not fall. With a roar he drew the weapon from his belt that reminded Sam of nothing more than a lightsaber, the blade erupting from the hilt with a flourish of color and light. It was, fittingly, red.

He charged forward, and Sam opened fire again, Daniel at her side. He slowed, the bullets punching through his armored chest with spurts of blood, but he did not die. He did not die as his chest was ripped open, he did not die as blood bubbled from his mouth, he did not die as bone peered through riven skin. He simply ran on, snarling through the blood dribbling down his chin and neck and staining his lips crimson, brandishing his red lightsaber.

"Aim for the head!" Daniel shouted, and obeyed his own advice by firing at the onrushing attacker's head. A bullet took him through the cheek, another through the cheekbone. Sam lifted her aim as well, and sent three bullets spraying into his eyes.

He dropped like a stone.

"What the _hell_ was that?" she called to Daniel as they ran forward again, heading toward the rest of the slavers who were just finishing wrestling their live cargo into the longboats.

"Berserkers," Daniel called out. "I'll explain more later."

They were twelve feet away from the slavers and longboats.

"Daniel," Sam called, "incapacitate the boats."

"Got it," Daniel said, and headed toward the nearest longboat and slaver, already lifting his MP5 to fire as soon as he was certain there was not a child in the bottom of the boat.

Sam angled her attack toward the next nearest slaver. "Hey!" she called again, and he whirled. He had not, it seemed, heard their fight with the first one. He snarled, saliva bubbling past his teeth. He lunged forward, flicking out a steel knife with a serrated edge. Sam smiled—and shot him in the head. He dropped like a sack filled with corn, boneless and limp.

"Who's next?" Sam yelled, dragging the attention of the slavers away from their captives, who had renewed their struggling at the sounds of the attack.

They whirled, hearing the retort of the gunfire and the death of their companion at their side, hearing Sam's challenge. They drew lightsabers and knives and advanced forward, blind to Daniel sneaking in from the side—blind to aught else but the woman who had slain two of their number in less than a minute.

Sam shot one of them in the eye, then another through the throat. The first died instantly, the second in a gurgle of blood and crimson saliva. There were two left, and they attacked at a run, roaring.

Sam ducked the first blow, came up on the inside, and blew the slaver through the heart with the muzzle of her MP5 pressed against his chest. He flew backwards with the bullets' recoil, landing on his back some five feet away, arms and legs spasming as he died.

The last slaver whirled in from the side. Sam turned and leapt back, narrowly avoiding being sliced in the throat by a knife. She backpedaled, lifting her MP5 and taking aim—only for the slaver to close the distance between them and kick high and hard, sending the MP5 from Sam's hands. It hit the strap around her shoulder and threw her off-balance, giving the slaver just enough time to grab her.

"You're coming with me," the slaver growled in her ear, heaving her off of her feet and throwing her to the ground. Sam hit and rolled, the wind knocked from her lungs, and came up on her knees. She fumbled for the Barretta strapped to her hip—but she was too slow. The slaver advanced, smiled, and kicked her in the face. Bone snapped, darkness swept in, and for terrible second Sam saw only blackness.

When she came to again, it was to the feel of sand beneath her back and a hand in her hair. The ground was moving beneath her, and her face hurt immensely. She dragged in a shuddering breath, then let it out with the taste of blood in her mouth, and opened her eyes. The overcast sky slid past overhead, and when she turned her gaze upwards, it was to find the slaver who had kicked her in the face dragging her towards the longboats.

She thrashed, reaching up to grapple with wrist. He cursed, but did not release her—did not even falter in his stride. She dug her heels into the soft ground—only for long furrows to form beneath her boots. Then the slaver heaved, sending Sam flying through the air and crashing into the first of the longboats.

"Oh," said a familiar voice, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The slaver whirled as Sam picked herself gingerly up off of the wet floor of the longboat. There was at least an inch of standing water in the bottom of it, and her right side was instantly soaked.

Daniel was standing with his sidearm pointed straight at the slaver's face. He smiled, then motioned with the Barretta toward the side. The slaver snarled—and lunged. The sharp retort of a gun firing snapped through the air—and the slaver fell, a hole in the back of his head.

"Lovely," said Daniel, holstering his Barretta.

Sam climbed out of the longboat. "Thanks," she said through her broken nose. Daniel looked at her and winced, then nodded toward the longboats.

"They all have holes in them now," he said. "They won't be going anywhere in a hurry. And all of their captives have been freed. They ran off to hide in the grass."

Sam grinned, in spite of the pain in her face. "Good job," she said. "Now let's go help the Colonel and Teal'c and the others."

They fell on the slavers from behind, firing their MP5s at the backs of their heads. They fell in boneless heaps to the surprised expressions on the villagers' faces, revealed by the slavers' downfall, their own lightsabers flickering before them.

It was over in a moment. The slavers died, and the villagers cheered as the last one fell, a long-distance shot from Colonel O'Neill taking him through the side of the temple. O'Neill approached from the right, with Teal'c at his side, a grin on his face.

"Nice," he told Sam and Daniel. "I take it you helped the captives too?"

"Papa!"

Sam turned in time to see a small girl race from a clump of waving sea grass to launch herself at one of the villagers. He caught her and hugged her tightly, pressing kiss after kiss onto her face and forehead and hair.

"Ai, Niya," he said, over and over again, as a dozen others crept out from the cover of the grass and began to make their way towards the rest of the villagers.

The man holding the girl was tall and broad-shouldered, with sandy blond hair and a neatly trimmed beard that framed his square jaw. Blue eyes shone out from beneath thick eyebrows, and his lips were full of laughter.

He turned to SG-1 and smiled. "My thanks, strangers," he said, extending the hand he was not holding Niya with. "I am Omark, the leader of this village. You saved our children, and Amara, and helped us defeat the slavers. We are in your debt."

Colonel O'Neill shook Omark's hand and grinned. "As we told the defenders in your village, we're not in the habit of allowing slavery to happen under our noses. I'm glad we could help."

"Please," said Omark, "come with us back to our village. There is not much we can do to show our gratitude for you, but at least let us feed you. There is yet much work to be done before nightfall—many fires to put out, much to be salvaged, much to be redeemed—but I hope that you will at least allow us to provide you with what we can spare to be on your way."

"We're going nowhere in particular," said Colonel O'Neill. "We'd be happy to help you and yours."

Omark's grin widened further still, breaking into a genuine smile. "Then again, you have our gratitude," he said, "and our debt. Come, come," he said, and motioned for the rest of the villagers to follow him, "let us bring our children back to their mothers and fathers, and begin the hard work of rebuilding once again."

* * *

**end notes:** What did you think? Comment and let me know!


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